


Tactile

by DarkMoonMaiden



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23029687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkMoonMaiden/pseuds/DarkMoonMaiden
Summary: None of them had had a kind hand extended to them in years, if ever.Or, Harley and the others learn to show affection to each other, and Harley learns how to parent Cass.
Comments: 24
Kudos: 196
Collections: Harley Quinn





	1. Cassandra

**Author's Note:**

> THIS. MOVIE. WAS LIFE CHANGING. I got to see it on valentine's day with a bunch of girlfriends and it was amazing.
> 
> So please enjoy this first attempt at dipping into this fandom :") 
> 
> (I'm sorry if there's any inaccuracies to canon, or any typos--my perfectionism kept making me go back and change things so I just had to yell at myself to say its fine and just post it haha)

The plan all along had been to go back to Gotham. 

“After things settle down a bit,” Harley told Cassandra while she sipped her margarita. “Y’know, when the death threats stop an’ people get distracted by the next big baddie that comes in.”

Cassandra hadn’t been particularly plussed by that statement, and made that clear to Harley.

“Well, where do you expect us to go?” Harley said with a giggle. “What, do you wanna go start from scratch in LA or Chicago? No, we’re gonna go back home, find a nice lil’ bungalow, and set up shop  _ there _ .”

“I mean, won’t it look suspicious?” Cassandra pointed between the two of them. “I mean, we’re obviously not related. And you’re too  _ young _ to have a daughter my age.”

Harley opened her mouth to respond, but then paused. The cogs in her head were obviously turning, and Cassandra’s worry built the longer the silence dragged on. Eventually, Harley grinned widely, and the worry turned to dread.

“I know  _ just _ what to do,” she said.

Downing her drink, she slammed the glass down and stood up, throwing her jacket back over her shoulders. 

“C’mon, kiddo, we got work to do!” Harley called behind her. Cassandra groaned tiredly and scrambled after her. 

Cassandra’s fear turned out to be semi-misplaced. Harley hunted down the forger, and twirled a bat while he frantically worked to make them fake passports. 

At first, he’d tried to play tough, even as his gun-wielding hand shook. “I--I don’t have to do what you want,  _ Harley Quinn _ ,” he spat. “I heard about your split. You’re  _ nothing _ without the Joker in front of you--”

She quickly showed him otherwise, plucking the gun from his hand and breaking a finger in the process.

“So cool,” Cassandra breathed in awe as the man immediately cowered and started babbling promises.

“There’s another lesson for ya, kiddo,” Harley sang, gracefully draping herself over a chair. “Give ‘em a chance. It gives you the chance to act scary.” 

Popping her gum, she settled in, and Cassandra did the same.

(There had been an uncomfortable moment where they had had to both pose for pictures: Harley had given her signature grin, and then promptly and cheerfully asked Cassandra if she was constipated again when the younger girl took hers).

“You can go back to the hotel, kid,” Harley told Cassandra. “It won’t take long. Pick us up some food?”

“I--I can’t work any faster,” the man tried stuttering. “Even on express order, it usually takes days--”

The bat cracked down, shattering one of the wooden chairs at his desk. The man yipped and jumped a foot in the air before he put his head down and went back to working. 

Harley beamed at Cassandra. The girl heaved a sigh and left, calling over her shoulder she’d grab Chinese food for the two of them.

By the time Harley came back to their hotel room, the food was already cold, but she didn’t seem to care. The wild gleam was in her eyes, and she brandished an entire folder of papers and documents.

“We are  _ good--to--go _ ,” she sang, leaping onto the bed. “That guy may’ve been a total whiner, but  _ damn _ does he make a pretty fake.”

Cassandra took a bite of her spring roll and wiped the grease off on the hotel bed before she started flipping through the folder. There were fake birth certificates and passports for both of them, along with a driver’s license for Harley (had the woman even had a license to begin with? Cassandra didn’t want to think about it). While she’d never dipped her toes into the world of forgery, besides learning what to look for in fake dollar bills, she had to admit she was impressed by the man’s quick turnaround.

“Harper Quinton and  _ Candice Coleson _ ?” Cassandra complained, scrunching her nose. “What the fuck?”

“I had to think on the spot,” Harley said, stuffing a forkful of fried rice into her mouth. “An’ it’s easier to remember if it’s similar to our old names.”

“But Candice is, like, a name for some hag that calls the cops on any teen she sees on the street, not for a  _ kid _ .”

“I’m sure you’ll grow into it one day,” Harley responded sweetly, and giggled when Cassandra flipped her off in response.

Grumbling to herself, Cassandra continued to flip through the papers. There were various other documents that looked important that she didn’t focus too much on, only blandly noting the new,  _ terrible  _ names on all of them.

The last paper caught her eye. Slowly, she put down the other papers and focused on the sheet, with the hastily scribbled signature and legalese.

“What’s this?”

Harley glanced over, cheeks bulging with food as she made a curious sound. Humming, she swallowed and gave Cassandra a warm smile.

“I know we got more of a sister/apprenticeship thing goin’ on, but ain’t an apprenticeship just parenting if you squint really hard? And it’s like you said: we don’t look alike, so gotta find new ways to prove it.”

Cassandra nodded slowly, head still whirling as she read and reread the papers in her hand. Even though the names were different, every time she read her alias her heart skipped a beat.

Adoption papers.

She never thought she’d get to have her own adoption papers, not even fake ones.

She glanced at Harley again, but the woman had gone back to stuffing her face with food and shouting wrong answers at  _ Wheel of Jeopardy  _ on the TV.

The clown wasn’t good at emotions. Cassie wasn’t, either. So she went back to shuffling through all of the documents with a scrutinizing eye and waited for her heartbeat to return to normal.

***

The other three women had been apparently keeping an ear open to mentions of Harley Quinn’s return to Gotham, because they were banging on the door after only a day of living in the townhouse.

“See? Less than two days,” Harley cackled when Montoya finally just wrenched the door open and stormed in, Dinah on her heels.

Cassandra heaved a defeated sigh, and fished a crumpled five out of her cast.

“ _ Harper Quinton _ ?” she seethed. “ _ That’s _ the best you could come up with? You can’t just change your name to something that’s almost exactly the same.”

“I mean, that’s what I’ve always done.” Harley gave the woman a confused look. “Harleen, Harley, Harper. Makes it easier to remember, y’know?”

“That’s--”

“She’s Candice now,” Harley interrupted, pointing at Cassandra. “Candice Coleson.”

“For the record, I didn’t approve of the name,” the girl mumbled, cheeks flushing.

“We can talk about the name stuff later, sweetie," Renee promised, "but right now I'm more worried about when you have to see a dead body in person."

"Don't worry, Officer Montoya, seeing dead bodies or broken bones doesn't scare me," Cass offered earnestly. Renee and Dinah groaned while Helena nodded approvingly.

“Shush!” Harley hissed. “Don’t you remember what I told ya?”

“Always aim for the eyes.”

Montoya made a pained noise, while Dinah couldn't hide her smirk.

“No, you brat,” Harley huffed, flicking the brim of Cassandra’s hat and sending it toppling off her head.

“Aim for the groin,” Helena offered earnestly. Cass gave her a wide grin.

"Ugh, go keep unpacking your room before Montoya has an aneurysm."

Cass gave Harley an innocent look before passing the group to go up the stairs with an armful of decorations, grumbling to herself.

“This is what I  _ mean _ ,” Montoya moaned, running her hand down her face. She dropped her voice down low as Cassandra left earshot. “You’re not equipped to raise a child. She doesn't need violence.”

Harley sniffed disdainfully, and there was a light in her eyes that wasn’t there before, replacing the usual . “Well, I know that she needs a semi-stable household with a loving parental figure, and she sure as shit wasn’t gettin’ it from her foster family,” she said, and there was more bite in her words than anyone was expecting. “Or does juvie sound better for her? Think she’ll get a lotta parental love in there?”

The room was quiet. Renee looked stunned, blinking rapidly as she tried to come up with a response. After a second, Dinah took pity on her and rested a hand on her shoulder.

“Just leave ‘em be,” she murmured. “She’s got a point. And Cass seems like she wants to stay here, too.”

Renee let out a sigh, working her jaw. She nodded. "I just want Cass to be okay."

"We all do."

"And she's gonna be the safest little girl in Gotham," Harley promised, and the manic gleam was back in her eyes as she brandished her baseball bat.

The tension had broke, and Helena shifted uncomfortably, clearing her throat before grabbing one of the boxes. “So, uh, where do you want this stuff?”

***

Something of a truce was achieved between Montoya and Harley. While Harley wasn’t officially part of their crime-fighting group, the other women spent an annoying amount of time (read: the perfect amount) in her home-turned-office. She would complain about their presence scaring off her possible customers as she took their food orders for dinner, and made space for their things in her closet.

Harley worked doing petty mercenary jobs that always turned into more. The three other women worked hard keeping crime-rates down, quickly becoming infamous in Gotham. Cassandra helped where she could, but mostly spent her time bitterly going through her homework (the agreement had been homeschooling, and while she would’ve preferred to just  _ not _ , she accepted it).

The nights Harley wasn’t out wreaking havoc in the city were...shockingly domestic. More so than Cassandra had ever experienced. They would order takeout, and lounge in front of the television while they ate. Bruce would either be snoring in his bed (it had taken  _ ages _ to find a bed big enough for him, and it was now a patchwork of mended fabric from when his claws had ripped through) or gnawing on a bone that Harley procured for him.

Harley had been damn near falling asleep into her plate. Her eyes were drifting closed as she absently munched on the pizza.

After an off-the-cuff joke Cassandra cracked at the television, Harley let out a sleepy giggle and reached out to run her free hand through Cass' hair.

Cassandra froze, but Harley didn't seem to notice the reaction, still eating with one hand. She ran her hand through Cassandra's hair one more time, and then started to pull away, but Cassandra was suddenly desperate for her to keep playing with her hair.

“Can...can you keep doing that?”

Cassandra’s cheeks were on fire, and she refused to look away from the television to acknowledge her question. Harley stopped chewing, and the girl felt her chest start to tighten when the silence prolonged. 

She was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Harley was a badass, deadly mercenary, and Cass had asked her to keep _petting_ her? It didn't matter that the motions had brought back vague memories of Cass, feverish, as one of her foster mothers (one of the good ones) had ran her hand gently through her hair, humming and gently caring for her. None of it mattered. 

It didn't matter that it had been ages since the last time someone had given her such a casual, gentle touch (and the last time had been Harley or Dinah, after the whole debacle with Sionis trying to kill her, as they guided her to a restaurant after patting her down to check for injuries).

After an eternity, during which Cassandra had been silently panicking and Harley had been staring at her with a mixture of emotions, Harley’s fingers started combing through her hair again, and Cassandra deflated with a relieved sigh. 

Neither of them spoke, and they went back to both watching TV as Harley combed through the knots and tangles in Cassandra’s hair.

***

It became an almost nightly habit: pizza or cereal, TV, Brucie tearing into a mysterious bone, Harley reaching out with a manicured hand to detangle Cassandra’s hair.

“You really oughta put your hair when we’re runnin’ around town,” Harley chatted one night. 

She was still wearing the singed shirt from the earlier escapades with the other women and smelled of smoke, but had changed into sweatpants and taken off her makeup. Montoya and Dinah had stayed behind to finish up, while Helena was still running after some of the loose ends.

“Y’know, like some cute buns, those’re super in, or braids,” she continued. “Oh! I know! Braid your hair, an’ we can put ribbons ‘n shit in it!”

Cassandra scrunched her nose distastefully. “That sounds  _ tacky _ .”

“Oh, hush! You know we don’t use that word in this household.”

Harley offered the scrunchie, and waited. Cassandra stared back at her, frozen in panic. Swallowing dryly, she pushed the offered hair tie away.

“I can’t.”

“What do you  _ mean  _ you can’t? C’mon, it’ll be cute!”

Scoffing, Cassandra held up her encased arm. “It’s a bit hard when I have this on all the time,” she said bitingly. “And it’s not like anyone around me wanted to help me.”

Harley’s brow furrowed and her lips pouted. “Well, I’m not gonna just let that stay the case.” She shifted and started rummaging through her pockets, pulling out a multicolored scrunchie. “Alright, kid, buckle up. I haven’t done this in awhile.”

Montoya walked in later to the sounds of squawks of pain and Cassandra angrily telling Harley that she was pulling on her hair. The woman tutted and continued the French braid, narrating her actions and occasionally demanding that the child listen. 

Montoya watched with fondness as Cassandra used her phone to see the back of her hair, and the way she bit back the grin that tried to spread over her face.


	2. Helena

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! I hope everyone’s able to stay safe and sane inside. And for everyone who still has to go to work (like me), I hope you’re able to be safe as well :”)
> 
> I had so much fun with this one. I’m not sure I’m fully happy with the way I portrayed Helena’s uncertainty but willingness to get to know and spend time with everyone haha. Plus I was thinking a lot about how she was raised by like two dudes in Italy who would definitely not know how to raise a child, even if they tried lol.

Helena Bertinelli was not a touchy person, besides what her Italian heritage would have one think.

Her adoptive family had tried their best to raise her with a kind hand. They fumbled their way through the sudden parenthood they found themselves in, with a young, traumatized girl staring at them for guidance. (The look of genuine, sheer panic on their hardened faces after the first time she’d asked them to read her a bedtime story had become one of her fondest memories).

It had left her with a hardened exterior and a cap on her emotions that didn’t budge, no matter how hard she tried.

If the others had noticed--and they definitely had--they hadn’t directly called her out on it yet. Dinah sent more than a few sympathetic her way when Helena balked from a casual touch, or stiffly responded to jokes from others. Harley would throw out some medical jargon every now and then--talking about CPTSD and how she should really find a therapist to help her with some internalized misogyny--but Helena always snapped angrily at her to back down, even if she would secretly look it up later, and felt her throat clench at how accurate some of the things were.

While her family in Italy did all they could to raise her normally, the lack of female role models  _ had _ left her with some...reservations. Or, she mulled, more specifically it left her with no actual understanding of how to interact with other women her age, and had her scoffing at the women who spent too much time on  _ unnecessary  _ hobbies and interests.

(Even though those thoughts were there, it brought with them fuzzy images of her mother: regal, always dressed to the nines, and a ruthless woman who would gladly break a man’s hand under her Louboutins. It kept her up at night trying to reconcile the two feelings).

It was images like the one she walked into, of Harley, Cass and Dinah on the couch with a drama on the television as Harley daintily painted the other woman’s hands.

Dinah craned her neck and gave Helena a rueful smile. 

“It’s manicure night,” she explained, and held up one of her hands to show off the glittery black nail polish. Harley yanked at her other hand, grumbling at her to stop moving as she carefully brushed on the next coat of polish.

“We can’t have you guys looking so  _ shabby  _ when you’re beatin’ people up,” Harley complained. “Yer givin’ us a bad image.”

“I picked out a purple that matches your weird fetish outfit,” Cass called out, holding up a bottle of polish. She grinned widely when Dinah made an indignant noise and made a halfhearted swipe at her, not even getting close to hitting.

“Leather is a perfectly acceptable, durable material for fightin’,” Harley sniffed.

“U-uh.” Helena swallowed, and stared at the polish bottle with wide eyes. It was, indeed, the right dark purple that matched her work clothes. “N-no, I have to go...do some research.” 

She ducked out of the apartment before Harley had time to disentangle herself from the couch and catch her. Helena’s heart raced, and she blindly wandered around the city until the panic clouding her mind finally receded and she was left with discomfort tinged with sadness.

The way they had casually invited her in to their space, into their bonding, their  _ hang out _ … It brought up feelings in her chest that she didn’t know what to do with. It reminded her of her mother. When she looked down at her own hands--calloused, and a dark purple that wasn’t the right shade and had been messily slapped on by an unpracticed hand--she could practically  _ hear _ the other girls critiquing it, Harley directing her sharp humor at the archer.

So Helena pressed the feelings and the thoughts down, and threw herself back into work, vowing to not linger on it anymore.

(But the memory of Cassandra saying she’d spent  _ time _ finding the exact shade of purple as her outfit crept to the forefront of her mind, and the way Harley had been doing Dinah’s nails for her--would Harley do the same for Helena, if she asked?).

***

“Do you buy your arrows, or do you make them yourself? Y’know, classic medieval, Robin Hood style.”

Cassandra plopped down at the dining table across from Helena, startling her out of her work. The girl was wearing an oversized T-shirt, hair in disarray from sleep, and she was munching her way through a bowl of cereal.

“I mean, they don't _look_ medieval," she said, and plucked one of them out of the pile on the table to look closer.

"Be careful!" Helena yanked the arrow out of Cass' hands, startling her and making her nearly elbow her cereal bowl off the table. "It's dangerous."

"Jesus, mafia princess, I know not to stab myself with the pointy end."

Helena scoffed, but leaned forwards to show Cass the arrowhead. “They’re a bit fancier than just boring old wooden arrows,” she said, showing the sparks of electricity when she twisted the arrowhead a specific way. “I didn't want you to shock yourself." She paused. "But yeah, I know how to make them.”

Cass’ jaw hung open in awe, and she stared at the quiver. “That’s so cool,” she breathed. “You’re so awesome, oh my god. You gotta show me how to make them. And shoot them! What does this one do?”

The sudden barrage of questions had Helena taken aback. She was used to people scoffing at her crossbow, sneering at her and condescendingly asking how many arrows she had left. The bright eyed enthusiasm (even if it was a bit bloodthirsty) that Cass showed was...new.

Helena cleared her throat and blinked rapidly. “Uh, y-yeah, yeah. Here, this one releases…”

***

The things that disturbed her were...little. Casual. Things that may have gone unnoticed by a well-adjusted individual. 

On all of her previous missions, there had never been many loud praises or cheers for her work. Her caretakers (all of them hesitated to use the word foster family, even if that truly was what their dynamic was) would pour her glasses of wine with a heavy hand after a successful mission, or give brusque claps on the shoulder  _ after _ the targets had been eliminated and they were all safely back home. It was nice, and she had never really expected more.

Most of the time, Helena would hang back as Renee and Dinah took the lead, interrogating culprits or wrestling them to the ground. She would wait in the rafters, or any other vantage point, and watch her other teammates through the crosshairs before downing anyone that got too close to them.

One time, they were all running after a target, and she was able to easily shoot him with barely stopping to aim. The three women slowed to a halt as he fell to the ground, screeching in pain. 

Dinah let out an excited hiss and reached out, squeezing Helena’s shoulder and pulling her into a strong one-armed hug. The surprise made her freeze, muscles going rigid and staying so even as Dinah let go.

“Nice shot,” Dinah complimented through her gasps for air, before rushing to their target and incapacitating them. Helena was left a few yards away, blinking stupidly as she tried to comprehend the compliment.

Harley Quinn and the other girls were like nothing she had ever experienced. Unabashed in their passion, their boisterous laughs, their  _ emotions _ . It made her feel uncomfortable. It made her feel out of place.

It made her feel longing for something she hadn’t had in decades.

***

Sometimes, it was suffocating. 

When they were at the point in the night where all of them were comfortably drunk and the words were flowing. They would laugh without abandon--Harley’s signature cackle, Dinah’s giggles, Renee’s snickers. (Helena found more laughs pulled out of her than she’d ever had, and it scared her, when she spent too long thinking about it). Cassandra was allowed to sit with them, but she wasn’t allowed to touch the alcohol, which didn’t mean she stopped whining and trying to wheedle some out of the other ladies there.

It was one of those nights. 

A few hours into their bonding session, Helena had stopped to get another drink from the kitchen. She was comfortably lightheaded and floaty from the alcohol--Dinah had shown off some of her skills from working at bars, and had spent the majority of the night making fancy cocktails with a heavy pouring hand. 

Cassandra was dozing in the corner, and Renee had tossed a blanket over her. Harley’s unnaturally pale skin was flushed, and she kept leaning against Dinah for support when she laughed too hard.

Helena was suddenly struck by the domesticity of it all, and it shook her to her core. 

The air was suffocating, and suddenly all Helena knew was that she needed fresh air. She needed out of the apartment and away from the  _ warmth _ of the scene in front of her.

The group was distracted and didn’t see her as she shoved on her boots and slipped from the front door. The air was warming as spring approached, but there was still the slightest shiver as Helena stumbled down the steps and stood in the middle of the sidewalk, taking a deep breath and trying to clear her head.

“Boo.”

Helena startled, and instinctively grabbed for the switchblade in her pocket. It only took another second before the voice registered as Harley’s, and she let out a careful sigh. How had the woman managed to sneak up on her? She was so drunk she couldn’t even stand, and Helena had no idea how she managed to get down the stairs without face-planting, or making enough racket without the assassin hearing.

“Ya ran off without sayin’ anythin’,” Harley complained, swaying dangerously. “We were all worried, ya dumbass.”

The adrenaline mixed with the alcohol had made her dizzy, and it took a second for the words to register. “I just...needed some air. It was stuffy in there.”

Harley hummed obnoxiously, and when Helena glanced over she saw the woman was eyeing her suspiciously. 

“Yer avoidin’ eye contact, yer fidgety, an’ ya keep rubbing the back of ya neck,” Harley listed off matter-of-factly. “It doesn’t take a psych degree to tell somethin’s up.”

Helena felt annoyance bubble up in her chest. It was a common occurrence when dealing with Harley Quinn, but the added buzz from the drinks made her mouthier.

“You don’t care, Quinn, so don’t pretend like you do.”

Harley blinked owlishly at her. “Excuse me?”

"I--I didn't mean for it to come out like that," Helena rambled on. "I'm just--I don't--" She let out an angry huff and raked her fingers through her hair. “I just--I don’t know how you guys do it."

Harley hummed, and leaned against the fence lining her property. "Do what?"

"Anything. All of this." The words were flowing now. "I don't know how everyone's adjusting like everything's okay. Everyone has a _plan_ , an _idea_ with what they wanna do and I just--" She swallowed tightly, and when she spoke again, her voice was quieter. "I don't know what to do now. I don't have anything left _to_ do."

There was silence, and then Harley heaved a deep sigh.

“Alright, girlie, bring it in.”

Helena blinked, and looked back at Harley. The harlequin was swaying dangerously with her arms akimbo.

“What...are you doing?”

“I’m giving you a warm and comforting hug,” Harley said, a bit too loudly. “Hurry up before I fall.”

Judging from the way she was swaying dangerously, the threat had some merit. Swallowing, Helena took a hesitant step forward, and Harley practically collapsed into the archer, nuzzling her cheek. Helena swallowed convulsively, and uncomfortably placed one of her hands on the back of Harley’s head. After a moment, it felt awkward, and she rested it on the middle of the woman’s back.

“I’ll tell ya a secret,” Harley stage whispered in her ear. She was close enough that Helena could smell the alcohol on her breath and the sharp perfume that drenched her clothes. “We’re all flyin’ by the seat of our pants, too. None of us have any idea what the hell we’re doing.”

Helena snorted quietly. “Montoya certainly seems to have an idea.”

“She’s pretendin’, too,” Harley insisted. “Do ya think a  _ year _ ago she woulda wanted to be a vigilante, afta all the credit for  _ her work  _ goes to someone who did jack shit? No! Well.” She hesitated and cocked her head thoughtfully. “Maybe she considered it. I dunno,  _ I  _ would have.”

“Harley, this isn’t really helping…”

“Renee’s gonna need to get her drinking under control soon, Dinah’s got mommy issues out the wazoo, and all of us have more than a touch of PTSD.” Harley tapped Helena’s shoulder with every item on the list, and let out a giggle. “But I’ll leave it there. It’s rude to analyze your friends, especially without their permission.”

“Agreed,” Helena said sourly. “And, like I said,  _ this isn’t helping _ .”

“But my point remains!” Harley’s voice was obnoxiously loud, and she nearly smacked Helena in the face when she leaned out and held up an assertive pointer finger. She paused, and then melted back into Helena, giggling softly and humming happily. “We’re all just tryin’ to get by, and we’re managing.”

“An’ you’ll get by, too.” Harley pulled back slightly and grinned, going cross-eyed when she tried to meet Helena’s gaze. “I mean,  _ you’re _ doin’ pretty well. Talkin’ with us. Findin’ stuff to do after your whole revenge mission was over. I think that’s pretty cool, Crossbow Killer.”

“Huntress,” Helena corrected unthinkingly, even as Harley snorted and gave her another squeeze.

“You’re bein’ too hard on yourself, sweetums. Take it easy.”

Helena felt tears prick her eyes as the words settled in. She opened her mouth to try and say something, but her throat closed up. The rush of emotions made her heart ache and her mind go blank.

And then Harley promptly lost what was left of her balance and sent both of them landing hard on the sidewalk, Helena barely managing to put a hand and holding Harley’s head so now actual damage was done. 

Harley let out gales of laughter as she laid on the sidewalk, wrapping her arms around her middle. Helena sat down heavily on the stoop leading to the townhouse, and she found herself joining in the harlequin’s laughter. 

Renee poked her head out of the door eventually, watching the two of them with warm exasperation. “Are you two done being public nuisances?”

“Nah, I need a few more minutes,” Harley called back, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.

She held out her hand expectantly, and it took Helena a moment to realize what she wanted. She obediently helped Harley to her feet and helped her stumble up the stairs and back into their home. 

***

Helena swallowed and looked at herself in the mirror, the fluorescent lights unforgiving. Her phone was balanced between the wall and a towel, with a video paused and ready to play. The video was one she’d spent most of the day scouring for a video that would fit what she needed.

Swallowing, Helena jabbed the play button with more force than necessary. Joyous music played in the background as the girl on the screen cheerily started explaining the makeup tutorial.

She held her breath as she carefully started lining her bottom lash line, hand as steady as if she was aiming at a perp. But even then she wasn’t able to stop her eye from watering and the urge to blink, smudging her pitiful attempt. She cursed colorfully, blinking rapidly to get the makeup out of her eye.

“You good?”

Helena swung around and froze like a deer in the headlights at Dinah leaning in the doorway. The woman was already dressed and ready for the night, a leather jacket slung over her shoulder.

Embarrassment coursed Helena, and she fumbled with her phone, spluttering as she desperately tried to pause the video again. 

“Fuck off,” she blurted. Her cheeks flushed. God, couldn’t she come up with anything  _ better _ to say?

Dinah tilted her head, taking in the situation. A smile quirked on her lips, and Helena quickly turned around, taking the towel she had on the counter and scrubbing at her eye in an attempt to hide the evidence.

“Tryin’ something new with the makeup?” Dinah asked.

“Sure,” Helena said bluntly. “You can go away now.”

“Well, do ya want some help?”

Helena’s hand stilled, nearly dropping the towel. “What?”

Dinah slid closer, and plucked the phone off the counter. “A smoky eye and eyeliner,” she said, scrubbing through the video. “I’m no guru, but I can help you with that. It’s my go-to.”

She set down the phone and held out her hand expectantly. Helena looked back and forth between the eyeliner and Dinah’s waiting hand before slowly handing it over. It felt like a dream when Dinah stepped even closer, narrating her movements as she worked.

“Lemme know when you need to blink, okay? Don’t try it all in one go. Look up as best you can, and don’t--move.” She smacked Helena’s hand away when she automatically went to grab the singer’s wrist. “You’ve seen what happens when you move. Don’t worry about eyeshadow, this pencil will blend out enough for now. Got a makeup brush? Good. Tomorrow we can go to the store--Cass wants more nail polish, too.”

Dinah pulled away enough that she could examine her work. Helena practically went cross-eyed trying to see the other woman’s reaction, feeling lightheaded.

Dinah’s lips quirked into a smile and she nodded in satisfaction. “Looks good.”

Helena let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in, leaning against the counter. She finally turned around at Dinah’s urging and looked at herself in the mirror, swallowing nervously.

It...wasn’t completely different from her old look. But it was more refined: the liner was steady, and Dinah had managed to blend it out smoothly and without making it look splotchy, like Helena had been trying to do for  _ weeks _ , if not months.

“C’mon, Harley’s waitin’ in the car for us,” Dinah called as she turned around. “And you  _ know _ how she gets when she’s left alone for too long.”

It was the prompt Helena needed to not dwell on the feelings, and instead allowed herself to smile quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, comments and kudos are much appreciated. I'm continuitygains on twitter and ko-fi, if either of those things tickle your fancy <3


	3. Renee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOWDY Y'ALL THIS IS A BIG OL' ANGST FEST. 
> 
> Please heed the new tags--this chapter focuses heavily on alcoholism.

While leaving the police force was one of the best things Renee Montoya had ever done, it made life a million times more frustrating.

She was used to roadblocks--it wasn’t like her superiors or coworkers had attempted to make her life easy--but not having databases of known criminals and the power of a badge to get into places was a royal pain in her ass. 

And now she had a band of miscreants that she could only loosely describe as a team that were hanging off of her at all hours of the day, and when they weren't, they were off destroying public property or ruining her cases. The frustration never ceased.

She had expected Harley to stay away from Gotham for longer--in all honesty, she had been waiting for an email or a postcard with ‘wish you were here’ written in cursive over a picturesque image of mountains and a kiss mark on the back of it. Renee had expected to chase Harley down and drag her and Cassandra Cain back to Gotham.

But instead of the expected year-long game of cat and mouse, Harley and Cass moved back to Gotham only a few months later after the death of Sionis. At first Renee suspected they had had to leave their little vacation early because of something illegal, but Harley had obviously put thought into the plan, and proved as much when she pulled out the fake adoption records and passports.

(Cassandra looked especially pleased when the adoption was mentioned, but none of the women in the room dared mention it).

So now Renee’s pack of troublemakers had doubled.

They were always pushing her into sticky situations, or pestering her until she stopped what she was doing to help them with a project, or to bail them out of some mess that their harebrained schemes had gotten them into.

It felt like Montoya’s job was to _worry_ , to be the one who rained on their parade (sometimes in a very literal sense, such as the memorable occasion when Harley had hijacked a float). Dinah did her fair share of nitpicking and hovering, but hers all seemed to stem from panic, while Montoya jumped straight to curses and chewing them out.

She’d always been a bit of a heavy drinker. She had kept her cabinets full for nightcaps after hard shifts, where she’d been belittled again and again by her colleagues. 

When they had first been starting off, Helena and Dinah had ended up spending the night more often than not in her apartment before they found their own places. Dinah’s place had been compromised after her affiliation with Sionis came out, and Helena had been flitting from motel to crappy motel while she’d been in Gotham.

It was weird having to get used to their quirks. The first time she’d walked into the living room and saw Bertinelli carefully cleaning and organizing her weaponry on her coffee table, she had had to stop and stare for minutes before moving to the kitchen. The makeup lining the bathroom counter was new, and the fridge was stocked with more food than it had ever been.

Renee had noticed the way the two women watched a bit too long when she’d pour herself a glass of whiskey with a heavy hand, but didn’t say anything because _they_ didn’t say anything. And she didn’t expect them to say anything--it wasn’t their business. They all had their quirks and their coping skills, and if she wanted to fall asleep with alcohol muddling the bad memories away, then so be it. 

That was why she was so surprised that when she went to get a drink the next morning, her cabinet was empty.

“Did you finish off my rum?” she called to Dinah. “I thought I told you, replace whatever you finish…”

Helena stared at her with her piercing gaze. “I got rid of it,” she said in a monotone. “You shouldn’t be drinking as much as you have been.”

The words stung. Not because of the accusation, but because of the truth in Helena’s words, and the concern on Dinah’s face from where she stood in the doorway.

The tension in the room was too much, especially when it seemed like Dinah was building the nerve to say something more. Renee closed the cabinet and went to make herself a cup of coffee, refusing to look back at them. After a moment, she heard Dinah sigh and leave the room.

***

With her pseudo-private detective, nightly vigilante activities, it was inevitable that she would end up crossing paths with her old colleagues at the GCPD. 

She hadn’t meant to run into Detective Tim Munroe, but she’d known it would happen sooner or later. Going independent didn’t stop the police force and detectives from doing their own jobs, or whatever pathetic attempt they could pass as doing so.

Renee was examining the murder scene. She and the other Birds of Prey had fallen into a pattern of an unspoken rotation when it came to the first sweep through the crime scene and interviewing the witnesses. She asked the frazzled storeowner about the robbery and murder from only days prior, and had barely made it through her preliminary questions before Detective Munroe and a handful of police officers arrived.

Mentally cursing, Renee had been prepared to take a few quick pictures and duck out the back room, but luck wasn't on her side, and the grin Detective Munroe gave her was dangerously gleeful.

"Montoya."

"Munroe."

“I heard you’re running around with Harley Quinn now,” he tutted. “Oh, how the mighty fall.”

The barb was expected. While Montoya didn’t trust the crazy girl further than she could throw her (experience told her that was six feet on a good day), Harley had been trying her best, and her heart was in the right place. She’d never seen Harley turn anyone away or leave someone in trouble if she could help them. (Or even if she couldn’t help them, in which case the Birds of Prey were always ready to step in and help.).

“Yeah, and how are those six open homicide cases you guys have going on?” Montoya asked absently, quickly taking pictures of the room around her. “Any leads on those yet?”

His smile soured, but the malicious grin returned only seconds later. "Well, here's the funny thing, Montoya," he said. " _We're_ still the professionals. And you're with a bunch of amateurs who can't do anything but blow up buildings. At the end of the day, it's gonna end with the perp in jail, and you drunk on your couch."

Renee bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted metal.

Munroe’s smile was dripping with pity. “I’m sure you ladies are doing a _great_ job,” he simpered. “Now, back up, Montoya. Let the actual detectives do their job.”

The pen in her hand snapped. Before the smirking officers could herd her away from the crime scene, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room.

She was fully aware of her choice as she entered the nearest dive bar, and ordered two shots of tequila. Even though she had told Dinah and Helena she would cut back, that didn’t mean she was going to _stop_ . And she deserved a drink after having Munroe, Detective Tim _fucking_ Munroe, treat her like she was just another deadbeat cop who hadn’t done _all of the groundwork for his career_.

The shots were gone in quick succession. She ordered two more.

Hours and hours later, the walk back to her apartment felt simultaneously insufferably long and quicker than the blink of an eye. She remembered trying to pick a fight with a man who had flirted with her, but he’d scurried off when she pulled out the brass knuckles, much to her annoyance.

Now, she was slumped in the doorway of her apartment. She fumbled with the lightswitch, and in the process ended up knocking a painting from the wall and sprawled on the floor.

“Fuck!” Montoya shouted into her empty apartment, throwing her wallet with force on the floor. “ _Fuck_!”

Dimly, she was aware of a door opening further in the house and the sound of footsteps padding their way towards her. Looking up blearily, she saw Cass standing in front of her, and her heart skipped a beat.

Her fuzzy mind remembered that Cass was spending the night at her apartment. It was an agreement they’d come up with, and was marked with a sparkly green pen on her hanging calendar: every Monday night (or whenever the girl felt like she needed space from Harley) Cassandra spent the night with Renee. Every other Tuesday was Dinah and Helena (that was marked with a sparkly blue, after much deliberation on Cass’ part). 

And now here they were, Montoya sitting on the floor and Cass further down the hallway, staring at her with a _painfully_ blank expression. But she hadn't been quick enough to hide the moment of fear that splashed across her face when Montoya had let out her scream of anger. She was wearing her pajamas and fuzzy slippers, and was clutching the taxidermied beaver close to her chest. 

“Ah, shit,” Renee cursed. She tried to stand up but lost her balance, landing back on her ass. “Cass, I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t realize what day it was—“

Cass’ brows creased slightly, and the corners downturned like she was trying to hold back tears. Renee’s addled mind realized how her comment must have sounded, and she rushed to splutter out an explanation, but Cassandra just said a short goodnight before turning on her heel and walking back to the guest room, slamming the door behind her.

Renee ended up sitting in front of the door for a lot longer that night.

The next morning, the hangover was a deep throb in the back of Renee’s head, but the guilt outweighed that pain. The image of Cass’ frightened and then blank face, and the way she had tried to make herself blend into the background.

Cass was on the couch, watching TV as she munched on her cereal. Renee hesitated in the doorway, and she felt her chest clench. What could she say? What would somehow make up for this, make up for the trust that Renee had unwittingly broken by coming home drunk? 

She’d spent so much time ripping into Harley for not knowing how to take care of Cassandra. The hypocrisy burned in her chest.

“I’m sorry, Cass,” Renee rasped out, swallowing dryly. “I--I didn’t mean for you to see me like that.”

Cass didn’t look up from her bowl and shrugged, listlessly pushing the soggy cereal around with her spoon. It became obvious that she wasn’t going to respond any time soon, and it ached.

Renee had seen dozens of traumatized kids clam up like this in the past, and knew she wouldn’t be getting much more out of Cass for the day. It didn’t make the reaction hurt any less, and it was an effort to bite her tongue to stop herself from pushing Cass further.

She pushed herself from the doorway, grimacing at the wave of nausea she felt.

“I’m gonna make some pancakes, kiddo,” Renee hesitantly said. “That cereal’s long gone. Want some?”

Cass’ hand stilled. “If they don’t have chocolate chips, I don’t want ‘em.”

Renee snorted, caught off guard by the sudden return of the girl’s sass, and moved into the kitchen. “Alright, alright.” It wasn’t forgiveness, and Renee knew that, but it was a start. 

***

Renee had expected Harley to show up with a metal baseball bat and murder in her eyes when Cass told her, but it never happened. 

She knew the girl hadn’t told any of the other Birds of Prey, and Renee ended up sobbing in the shower about it.

***

Weeks later, when Renee trailed into the kitchen, she wasn’t expecting to see Harley already at the table. Whenever the women spent the night, it wasn’t unusual to find Helena awake early, preparing for the day, but Dinah and Harley took longer to crawl out of bed due to their old night owl schedules.

Harley had her head braced in her hands, staring pensively at the iPad on the table. She hadn’t moved since Renee had walked in, and her intense look had every red flag going up in her head.

“Harley,” Montoya greeted her warily. “What are you doing?”

“Fucking-- _fuck_!” Harley abruptly screeched, slamming her hands down on the table. The coffee mug shuddered and fell, spilling its contents onto the floor.

“Stupid goddamn brain, fucking chemicals _never_ work how I need them to,” she seethed, standing up as she paced the length of the room. “Shoulda never listened to that fuck, woulda never jumped if I knew it’d affect my memory--”

Muscle memory had Renee reaching for a gun on her hip that wasn’t there. “Quinn, calm down,” she warned. “Take a deep breath. What’s going on?”

Harley took a few exaggerated breaths, closing her eyes and unclenching her fists. After the fifth breath, she seemed to deflate, letting her head loll forward. It did nothing to calm Renee’s nerves.

Especially when Harley looked up and her eyes were wet.

_Shit_.

She would’ve preferred the crazy Harley to come back. She couldn’t stand Harley _crying_.

“I’m tryin’ to _remember_ names and books but I can’t,” she said, sniffing loudly. “I used to have a bunch of things memorized, y’know? Psychiatrists, therapists, books, so many things. I could list ‘em in a second, like that.” She snapped her fingers. “An’ now, it takes so much _effort_. God, it makes me wanna _hurt_ somebody!”

“Don’t, please don’t.” Renee felt a headache coming on. “Just--what? What the hell are you trying to remember?”

“Counselors for addiction, ‘n books ‘n shit,” Harley snapped, giving Renee an incredulous look, as if it was obvious. “Do you know how much we had ta deal with that in Arkham? It was more’n just ‘oh, I have the urge to commit heinous crimes against humanity.’” Harley made a face and spoke in a mocking tone, rolling her eyes. “Addiction wasn’t my specialty, but I knew _some_ stuff.”

“O...kay. But why are you trying to remember _that,_ of all things? Wouldn’t, I dunno, remembering some of your _other_ colleagues help? Like the ones that actually _do_ specialize in the urges to commit heinous crimes against humanity? I think they’d be able to help you a lot.”

Harley scoffed and waved her hand dismissively. “Mistah J already ran the good ones outta town,” she said. “And I have a whole PhD to help myself. But _you_ don’t, an’ _you_ haven’t been lookin’ into it as much as you should.”

It was...weird. Of all the things Renee had expected Harley Quinn to say, it wasn’t that. It stunned her so much that she actually had to lean against the counter. 

“Oh.”

_Oh_.

“It’ll come to me eventually,” Harley grumbled to herself, slinking back into the kitchen chair to return to hunch over the tablet. She seemed oblivious to Renee’s stunned disbelief.

It became clear that Harley was content to stay in that position for the foreseeable future, and Renee let out a startled laugh. 

Harley never failed to surprise her. If Renee was being honest, the rapidity in which she found herself getting _used_ to the strange woman’s spontaneity was alarming, especially because of the way she had began to see it as almost...adorable?

Adorable was not the right word for a psychologist-turned-psychotic-killer. Adorable was a word no sane person would use.

(But Renee had already signed away part of her sanity when she formed the Birds of Prey. She supposed it wasn’t anything particularly concerning).

Renee reached over and squeezed Harley’s shoulder. “You still have some good left in ya, Quinzel,” she said, plucking the iPad off the table and walking away. “Even if you’re batshit crazy.”

(She missed the stunned and vulnerable look on Harley’s face at her words).

A few weeks later, she had a stack of second hand books waiting outside of her bedroom door. As she heaved a sigh and picked them up, Renee decided to not linger on the fact that Harley had broken into her house, but had deemed it crossing a boundary to go into her bedroom.

“I’ll never understand that clown,” she muttered to herself fondly.

***

Montoya should have known that it would become a fixation for Harley. 

“Group meetings are a good way to remind yourself you’re not alone,” Harley pressed, seemingly unconcerned as she skated forward and landed a solid punch on her assailant’s face. “Don’t even gotta say much.”

“Quinn, now is _really_ not the time,” Montoya hissed, barely dodging a swing of a tire iron.

“It’s _never_ the right time for you.” 

Harley popped her bubblegum before yanking the thug attacking Montoya away by the back of his shirt. She grunted with the effort as she twirled the man around and threw him over her shoulder. The man fell with a sickening crunch, and Montoya felt her heart stop before the man started groaning and whimpering in pain as he clutched his broken arm to his chest.

“Look, all I’m sayin’ is that we’d all appreciate it if you just _tried_.” Harley rolled over and put a hand on Renee’s shoulder to stop herself. “Look, I'll tell ya what I told Miss Mafia Princess. We’re all gettin’ a new start, an’ we’re tryin’ somethin’ new. Did you know Dinah’s started writing poetry? It’s really good. ‘N Cass is actually _trying_ with her classes.”

“I’m doing something new, too, aren’t I?” Montoya said, shouldering out of Harley’s grip. “It’s not like I was in the habit of running around as a vigilante?”

“Well, that doesn’t count,” Harley said, rolling her eyes. “We’re _all_ doing that. I meant try to do something that’s actually a healthy coping mechanism and doesn’t involve punching people whenever you’re feeling an emotion.”

“It’s not like you’re the poster child of healthy coping mechanisms,” Montoya snapped. “You blew up Ato--”

“La, la, la, I can’t hear you!” Harley sang, putting her fingers in her ear and skating away.

***

Things had been sizzling between Dinah and Montoya for weeks now. They butted heads about everything, with both of them desperately vying for control in their new roles as vigilantes. It frustrated her to no end--the ex-singer hadn’t had the years of experience that Montoya had had on the police force, and as terrible as the time there had been, she had gained insight and contacts to use for their cases.

The tension finally snapped after a night of vigilantism with Helena and Dinah. What had meant to be a quick in-and-out recon for information on a drug smuggling ring had quickly turned into something a lot more deadly when the empty warehouse was much less empty than expected. After a fistfight in which it became obvious they were heavily outnumbered and underprepared, the three women were forced to make a hasty retreat, bullets raining after them. 

“What the _fuck_ was that, Canary?!” Montoya barked as the car door was slammed closed. “You completely deviated from the plan—“

“The plan that was gonna get us _killed_ , like I told you,” Dinah interrupted her as she tore out of the parking lot, hearing gunshots and shouts after them. “I told you the numbers you got were wrong, but you decided to go ahead anyways!”

A small part of Montoya knew Dinah was right. Her source hadn’t been able to give them an accurate number of thugs that were going to be at the warehouse that night, but she’d ignored Dinah when the woman said she’d heard there would be almost double the number. 

Which had put them in the current predicament: screeching down the otherwise quiet streets, with no information on what was being smuggled into Gotham, and Dinah and Helena sporting darkening bruises. When Helena peeled off her mask, Montoya saw the rapidly darkening black eye. 

“You can’t just fucking _decide_ to run off alone without telling us anything,” Montoya argued angrily. “I had intel that I thought was solid, but you just went and did whatever you wanted, and for what? To _prove_ me wrong? To _spite_ me?”

“You decided to follow _your_ gut instead of listening to the rest of us, and it nearly got us all killed,” Dinah snarled. “You do this every _fucking_ time, and I’m sick of it.”

“Lance, I swear to god--”

“No, _you_ listen to me!” 

The sudden shriek from Dinah had the windows rattling and Montoya’s ears ringing. The singer stopped with more force than necessary at the stoplight, rocking Montoya and Helena forward.

“We are not your _officers_ , Montoya,” Dinah hissed out from behind her teeth, staring angrily at the road ahead of her. The stoplight bathed her hurt and angry face in red. “We’re supposed to be partners. If that’s so hard for you to understand, then maybe you should go back to the police force.”

It stung. It stung more than Montoya had been expecting. She opened her mouth to speak, to say anything, but her throat closed up and she could only let out a choked noise. 

Dinah glared at her when she didn’t respond before turning her gaze back to the road, jaw working.

“I’m leaving,” Dinah said shortly, viciously putting the car in park. “I’m gonna go patrol and clear my head. I’ll be back later.”

“Wait, Dinah--”

Renee’s words went unheeded as Dinah exited the car and crossed the street, leaving the car door open. The ex-police officer was forced to scramble into the driver’s seat after the light turned green.

When Dinah disappeared around the corner, Renee finally relented and started the car after the driver behind them angrily swerved around them. She expected Helena to say something, but the archer was deathly silent in the backseat, her jaw working angrily as she stared out the window.

Renee gripped the steering wheel tight enough her knuckles went white and broke the silence. “I know I've been out of line these past few weeks,” she said, choosing her words carefully. She paused. “I’m sorry.”

Helena glanced at her from the corner of her eye. “I’ve been taught that apology without action means nothing,” she said, her voice smooth and atonal. “So what is this one gonna be?”

Renee let out a slow breath, jaw clenched. “A real one.”

Helena nodded, staring back through the windshield. “Let’s hope so,” she said, quiet enough that Renee almost missed it over the hum of the car. 

Her throat itched for a drink.

***

“Dinah, you don’t have to wait for me.”

Things had been tense between the two of them, yet nothing had been directly said. It had felt like a standoff every time they were in the same room, each waiting for the other to snap. Helena was thoroughly sick of both of them, and when it wasn't related to work, she had been spending time with Harley and Cass, who were hovering nervously around.

When Dinah had come up to Renee, prepared for a night of patrolling, she'd been startled by Renee's request to drop her off, and when she'd pushed further and discovered it was for an AA, the doubt and wariness had melted away and she hadn't asked anything more.

Renee stepped out of the car, kicking it shut. She was wearing civilian clothes, a nondescript outfit that would hopefully allow her to go unnoticed at her first group meeting. 

“Go home,” Renee stressed to Dinah as the singer turned off the engine. “I’ll be done in a couple of hours, or I’ll walk home.”

“Are you _kidding_?” 

Dinah leaned the seat back and pulled out a magazine from seemingly nowhere. “You’ve given me a hall pass to get away from the crazies back at the apartment for a few hours, and I’m gonna enjoy _every_ second of it.”

Renee snorted and shook her head fondly, before steeling herself and entering the building.

It wasn’t the best experience, to put it delicately. 

Almost as soon as she’d entered the room, Renee's gaze was drawn to one of the other people in the room. She stared at him from the corner of her eye, flipping through memories to try and figure out where she’d met him.

It was only when she heard someone call out to him that the name finally clicked. Montoya had pulled him in two separate times for aggravated assault and possession of drugs. She’d personally been the one to answer both of those calls, and while she couldn’t remember specifics, she knew he’d spent time in jail. Because _she_ had picked him up.

Renee ended up dipping out before the meeting even started, heart beating loudly in her ears. Dinah had glanced up from the magazine when Renee was climbing back into the car after only twenty minutes, but had the grace not to question her. 

“Ready to go home?”

Renee swallowed tightly and nodded. 

*** 

Dinah drove her to the next meeting, and Renee was able to stay the entire time. (The man from before didn’t seem to notice her, or if he had, he had a better poker face than she would’ve given him credit for). Dinah kept her expression placid and smooth whenever they were in the car together, but the small, relieved smile that crept onto her face when she thought Renee wasn’t looking was endearing. 

It quickly became a routine: Dinah drove her, and took the time to read and relax while Montoya slowly opened up to the group. They still butted heads when it came to their work, but it was becoming progressively easier to let it go when they weren't in their costumes, and were just Dinah Lance and Renee Montoya.

***

Two months of consistent meetings later, and while Renee couldn’t necessarily say that the mood swings and irritation were exactly pleasant, the reactions of the other women around her made up for it. 

In between moments of crime fighting and wrangling her friends (read: children), she started working her way through the stack of books Harley had given her. The harlequin had been constantly pestering her about it, asking every time they saw each other if Renee had started them yet. 

More to appease Harley than actually better herself, Montoya caved and started reading. 

(She would never admit the nights where she had to read the sentences through tears, the words almost illegible through her blurred vision. She kept a series of notes on her phone of the parts that rang the truest to her).

They kept up a routine as the Birds of Prey, and their reputation grew. While most of their work was still patrolling and stopping petty crimes, larger jobs started to trickle their way, leading to more late nights and safer streets. 

They were out celebrating for the first time in months, after they’d successfully managed to knock a notorious dealer off his pedestal.

Group dinners weren’t uncommon, especially before nights of work. 

But it felt...different.

It was the familiar greasy Mexican food, the same laminated tables and the same bright-eyed waitress. But the intimate familiarity made the lack of alcohol glaringly obvious, especially when Dinah had intercepted the waitress when she tried to bring their usual margaritas. 

But she was able to find joy in the chatter with everyone, and when she'd mentioned the weirdness of it all, she was met with understanding, and Cass reaching under the table to hold her hand. Renee found herself sinking into the atmosphere, soaking in the gentle ribbing Helena gave Cass and the way Dinah heatedly discussed the show they'd been watching the night before. Two tables had been pushed together, and the restaurant was almost fully empty save for their group.

None of them noticed when Harley had crept away, but then she whistled to get their attention.

Everyone tensed. Dinah was staring at Harley in disbelieving horror as she walked closer with the balanced tray, shaking her head warningly. Helena had her head in her hands, and Renee stayed stone-faced.

“Frozen mock-aritas!” Harley exclaimed proudly, beaming. She passed them around to the stunned table. “Now we can all enjoy lime, slushy goodness. You’re one of the gals now, Cass!”

Dinah seemed to deflate, melting back into her seat. A disbelieving laugh escaped her lips, and she covered her eyes. Helena took her drink delicately, eyeing the green slush with uncertainty, while Cass complained that it was nothing more than a glorified Icee.

“Is...is this okay?”

Harley’s eyes were wide, and she seemed uncharacteristically hesitant. “I made sure they used a clean blender ‘n everything. They washed it in front of me. It’s completely okay for you ta drink. I figured, to make the transition a bit easier...”

She was fidgeting nervously in her seat, tugging on her hair and crossing and uncrossing her legs. Renee was suddenly very aware of Dinah watching her warily. It seemed to be enough of a cue for her, and Dinah started standing from the table, already holding her drink and reaching for Helena’s.

“No!” Renee blurted out. She lurched over the table and pushed Dinah’s glass back down on the table, spilling a good portion of it out on the already sticky tablecloth. “Don’t...don’t worry about it. This is nice. But, uh, maybe ask next time.”

“Oh, thank _gawd_ ,” Harley exclaimed, her whole body relaxing. “Jesus, I thought the songbird was gonna throw me out the window.”

“That’s still on the table,” Dinah said in a deadpan, settling back into her seat. “We’ll see how the rest of the night goes.”

“Ooo, don’t threaten me with a good time,” Harley cooed, fluttering her eyelashes.

“You guys are gross,” Cass uttered, scrunching her nose at them as she slurped her drink. Dinah didn’t even glance in her direction as she reached out and flicked the hat from her head in retaliation.

Looking down at the neon green drink, Renee’s lips quirked into a sad smile. She knew that Harley had just been trying to be kind, especially because Renee had made an off-handed comment about how odd it all felt, being sober and knowing she was going to be that way all night. 

Some people in her AA group talked about the gray areas of sobriety—was it cheating if they drank non-alcoholic beer? Would it be _that_ bad? A lot of people in the group didn’t know the answer. Renee didn’t know. She knew there was nothing in the green slush-mix that would get her drunk, but it felt...too close to real. 

Despite the urge, she pushed the drink discreetly off to the side, and stole a sip from Cass’ Sprite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is a doozy--it kept just growing and growing the more I wrote. I wanted to treat the topic of alcoholism with respect, and because of that I felt like I needed to set a bigger stage than what I had previously established. Anyway. I hope you liked it <3 Next one is Dinah, and it’s gonna be FLUFFY and FUN and CUTE

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'll hopefully have the next part up within the next week. Comments and kudos are much appreciated!
> 
> If you have any questions/wanna chat, my twitter is continuitygains!


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